


Running Back Home

by SparklerHale1025



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional, Father-Son Relationship, Feels, Gen, Hurt Thranduil (Tolkien), Hurt/Comfort, Protective Legolas Greenleaf, mirkwood family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 16:51:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparklerHale1025/pseuds/SparklerHale1025
Summary: During the Battle of Five Armies, Thranduil is injured.





	Running Back Home

**Author's Note:**

> This took so long. I never write this much, but it just came together. Hope you enjoy!

    
For a moment it was peaceful. The road was empty, and nothing breathed but the whisper of the wind rustling the trees. Nothing moved besides the sun peaking through the dark grey clouds.

The blood even soaked into the earth silently, so silently it seemed to hold time.

The long roads of Dale curved continuously, up hill and down to the earth from where the city was elevated. Battles now raged in the lost gravel. Screams of the innocent and determined filled the air.  
  
No being was spared.  
  
Then the moment was lost. Taken away and there was a urge of desperation to have it back.  
  
The street was still empty, but now there was a flurry of movement.  
  
Thranduil. Elvenking of the Woodland Realm let his weary eyes scan over the snow covered ground. More than a dozen orcs laid slain around him, defeated as they had charged him after he entered Dale. But he had moved precise actions.  
  
Inhaling deeply, Thranduil tried to put together his strength as he took a step over one of the fallen orc, and then quickly tightened his grip on his sword. A surge of pain washed over him. It was a burst, right above his hip and he fought from closing his eyes.  
  
He knew and he didn’t want to accept it. His fury hadn’t stop a sword plunging into the right side of his body. But here could be no wound. Thranduil needed to move.  
  
The King felt the wetness of blood slipping down from his armor at its gap, and if he looked down he knew he would see the droplets of red coating the light colored floor.  
  
Stepping forward again, he shifted his body and only stumbled forward slightly before he started to drop forward.  
  
Luckily, he caught himself and was able to land on his knees, somehow in increased dizziness.  
  
Thranduil knew, despite his growing exhaustion, he was vulnerable like this. More orcs were soon to be upon him, and he needed to get to his people.  
  
The Elves needed their King.  
  
Looking down, Thranduil lifted a hand to press against the underneath of his silver armor. Pulling his hand away, he saw the dark blood that coated his fingers.  
  
A numbness started in his legs and he frowned, but already shifting again to try and stand up.  
  
“My King!” A horrified voice met his ears and he tilted his heavy head up, facing forward to a arch that led to around the corner. It was Galion, the guard who had served him for centuries and was a much close friend as a King could have.  
  
Galion paused briefly in the archway, and had stared at him, wide eyes before rushing over. The clamour of metal of Galleon's own armor rattled in the street, along with the crunch of snow at his approach. More Elves followed right behind Galion a moment later, and as they had spotted their injured King began to make a protective circle around them.

Some who did not make this circle, went ahead in groups into the roads to keep any orcs that could be heading towards the King's direction.  
  
Skidding to a stop, Galion fell in front of him. His knees met the ground as he leaned and press a gloved hand to the wound.

“It is shallow.” Thranduil said softly, twisting his head to the side.

He was ignored and Galion insisted firmly, “You need a healer.”

There was no need to call to aid as another elf rushed to the pairs side.

Thranduil recognized the young healer as Mediul.

Legolas had his number of playmates when he was younger, many of whom usually didn’t want to go alone with the Princes wild pranks and extreme curiosity. But Mediul had been one to continue to stick by Legolas side as they split roles to healer and soldier.

Careful hands then replaced inexperienced ones, and one would think to be nervous when treating a King, but Mediul as nothing but a master at his craft.

“It may not be deep, but I need to take his armor off to see the full extent of the damage. He can still continue to bleed out.” Mediul said softly, addressing Galion who had continued to watch the exchange carefully.

“We don’t have time for a full examination. Bandage me up and I will continue to move.” Thranduil said quickly, not letting Galion a word.

If bleeding out on a battlefield is what he will do, then we will do it besides his kin and not some shelter where he is taking a break.

“The Elves need their King alive.” Galion protested quickly, and quietly in his tone so that none of the other surrounding soldiers could hear him.

Thranduil had no wishes of dying, as King strives to protect their people. There was no hope for the mercy of death despite the pain that struck your life. He thought of that often as he had looked down at Legolas, crying without a mother.

“The Elves need a King that is not sidelined. You will bandage me up now.” Thranduil ordered calmly, though the order bit through in his tone as he turned his head to look at Galion closely.

Thranduil slowly pushed himself to his feet, his knees weak, but his determination was not.

“My King, please.” Mediul tried, slowly standing up with thranduil. The Healer looked at Galion, probably for intervention, but Galion look unsure.

“Please at least be bandaged, Our King.” Galion asked, for he could not command a King to do anything else. But then he leaned close, whispering as a friend now, despite being distressed, wanting only to press another issue, “As the Elves _do_ need their king, Legolas also needs his father.”

Thranduil glanced briefly at Galion. He knew that Legolas was in this battle. His son could not ignore a battle such as this, but he also knew due to the intense bond that they shared.

The trio then moved slowly to underneath a cover, where Thranduil could take the pieces of his armor that hid his wound. The King did not look at the healer as he attended to his bloody wound.

Ignoring the twinge of pain that sparked, he began planning.

“Feren.” Thranduil called to one of the elf guards.

The elf immediately charged to the King’s side from where he had been standing, “Recall your company,”  Thranduil ordered, “We are leaving.”

Feren nodded, moving away from the underneath the cover, and pulled a horn that was loose from his armor. Lifting it to his mouth, a sudden loud noise erupted, filling the cold air with a simple instruction, _The Mirkwood Elves were done here._

Mediul soon finished with the bandages, making sure they were tight enough and would last them until they were at place where it could get more attention.

Thranduil inhaled sharply as he stood up, then quickly composed himself. He stood straight up, holding his hand onto the sword at his hilt, his face showed no pain and nothing but strength.

If someone else had walked by and saw, they would never had thought that a sword had plunged into his body.

Moving from out under the cover, Thranduil motioned towards the gathering of soldiers that were nearby. Mediul had moved back into the array of the huddle, but Feren and Galion kept to his side.

The sky was still a light gray, and the wind brushed some of his blond colored hair from his face. Dirt now laid into some of the strands, not having the same majestic brightness.

* * *

 

“Thank goodness! Thranduil, you must send a company to RavenHill, the dwarves are about to be overrun!” Gandalf shouted, following him and lifting his staff just slightly the direction Ravenhill was.

Thranduil did not look in Gandalf's direction, not wanting to deal with the wizard for any longer, “No more blood will be spilled for this sacred land.” He said firmly, continuing to walk, and his elves followed closely behind him.

The adrenaline had kicked in again as he marched through the city, so his wound wasn’t a properly priority in his mind. The pain had lessened and he stood straight up.

But Gandalf continued to follow him, as it turned out.

When Tauriel threw accustions at him, anger had quickly boiled, a suddenly all his anger had been to strike.

Love? Tauriel was the one who did not know love.

She did not know the feeling of your chest crushing because of love.

* * *

 

Legolas let himself breathe for a moment, his aching arms dropping to his sides as he leaned against the rockside of the small hill. When he took a moment to listen he could not hear the battle as loud as it had been before, yet he still felt a sense of foreboding.

A small break allowed him to catch his breath and let himself feel just the bit satisfied to being able to kill Bolg. That particular dark creature would hurt no one any longer.

Suddenly, a shuffle across rock and snow had him tensing and slowly reaching a hand to his weapon.

Turning quickly, he immediately relaxed as he recognized the duo of guards. The short one was named Thendir, and the taller one was named Saerdor. It was nice to see a familiar faces, even if the battle had not been long.

“Prince Legolas!” Thendir huffed as they finally drew closer.

At a close inspection, he noticed there wasn’t as much tear into the guards as usually it would have been. Perhaps that was the reason they were sent to find him.

At least that's what he was guessing. Sending guards to find him only surprised Legolas slightly. He knew his father loved him, but he could also imagine the anger and disappointment he had when he had not returned.

He would not be able to return, nor did he feel like the wanted to.

“I’m here.” He reassured, giving a small smile despite his face aching, but that would heal soon enough.

“We were tasked in finding you after the battle was over. The King sent us here.” Saerdor guard said, slightly out of breathe.

“I cannot go back.” Legolas said softly, for he did not speak harshly to the guards who were only giving the message.

The two guards looked at each other. It seemed like a small conversation as going on silently.

“Our apologies, but the King’s insists.” Saerdor said firmly, just a bit under rudely.

Despite the message, they would probably also like to be back as soon as possible, and be with their kin.

Thendir spoke in turn next, but said softly, like he would be talking to a scared animal.

“Prince Legolas, the King has been hurt-”

Legolas's eyes widened, and he felt a pain in his chest he wanted quickly to go away, but it also gave a sense of answers. He knew he felt something was off, like a part of him wanted to keep running, to someplace.

“-from being puncture by a blade. He was not well enough to send himself, so he sent us.”

Not feeling well enough could be basically dead. His father would not have succumbed to falling behind if the injury was not something to worry about.

The feeling of abandonment flew out of his head and he looked at the guards desperately, “I will return. Where is he?”

“He is back at camp. Healers are tending to him as we speak.” Thendir said quickly and nodding.

“Then we will return quickly. Let’s head to Dale.” Legolas spoke and the trio took down the small mountain, towards Dale shambled remains.

* * *

 

The white tent wasn’t in the best condition, as Dale wasn’t either. But considering the circumstances, it held the wind and the peering eyes.

Inside, straight ahead from the flapping entrance was a makeshift bed. Covered in soft furs, it glowed against the candle that was lit on the side, where a small table sat.

On the bed, Thranduil laid motionless.

His armor had been stripped away and thrown aside, leaving his torso exposed for the healers to get a better look at. The bandages that had been their due to Mediul had been removed, showing the bloody damage that the sword had inflicted.

Scrambling, the healers worked to close the wound and also compensate the the major blood loss the King had sustained

Unconscious, the King looks almost dead to the everyone that was able to look at him.

That was the sight that Legolas had rushed into.

Legolas had not been stopped as he raced through the crowd of elves, humans or dwarves.

It seemed like everyone was just settling, just for a moment and catch up on what has just happened. But Legolas knew that that a group of elves would be tracking any lone orcs that had fled to slay them down. The danger wasn’t over.

“Adar!” Legolas felt his breath leave him a second time as as caught eyes on his father's harm, and immediately went to rush forward.

A pair of hands stopped him from reaching too close, and he went to spin around to snap in anger, when he realized it was Galion.

“Galion, what of his condition?” He asked, panicked and the realization of losing control caused him to feel even more anxiety. His hands shook and his felt like his skin was going to crawl away.

Despite the harsh words, and distance, he could _not_ lose his Adar.

“Calm, young one.” Galion spoke softly, as he removed his hands from his arms and replaced them on his shoulders comfortably.

A healer, who noticed the commotion, came over, glancing between the two. “Prince Legolas. We are trying stop the bleeding from the King’s wound. It might be best to wait outside.”

Legolas felt his shoulder rise as the request, “I will not.”

From the place that he stood, he could hear another healer whisper besides his father's bed, “The wound is unclean. His fever is high, I can’t tell if it is poison or from loss of blood.”

“Poison?” He ignored the healer who had been talking to him and Galion kept silent. “Give him the antidote!”

In battle, it was not uncommon for orcs to bathe their knives and swords in ugly poison. It was strong if a blow had not killed its enemy on its first blow. Due to this, an antidote were usually brought to battle to help the injuries that might have been exposed.

It was Galion spoke this time, sounding very uncertain as he held onto Legolas’ shoulders, “He ordered everyone to be treated before himself. Our antidote supply was cut in half. Another shipment is being sent from Mirkwood.”

Legolas let out a breathe, his hands clenched against his sides, and the distress obviously spreading across his face.

“We will know overnight if the fever goes down.” The healer said softly, recurring. “You may stay in the tent, but please let us finish.” She didn't say anything else as she went back to Thranduil’s side.

Galion squeezed his shoulder gently, “He will be fine. He does not want to leave you yet.”

He glanced briefly to Galion and nodded his head despite his anxiety.

Standing on the sides, Legolas and Galion watched as the healers applied healing herbs and bandages to the wound.

* * *

 

The first thing that Thranduil saw when he woke up was Legolas. Having been pulled closer, Legolas was sitting on a chair that was besides the bed. The young elf wasn't looking at him, but to a sword that he held in his hands.

“Planning to steal my sword?” Thranduil spoke quietly, and even thought he tried that, his voice sounded rough.

Legolas quickly looked at him, lowering the sword onto the table and rushing closer, falling to his knees besides the bed. “Adar!”

“Calm, ion-nin.”

Lifting a hand, he let his fingers reach into the soft blond hair that looked so much like his own. There was no protest as he did this, in fact, he felt Legolas move closer.

One complete look at Legolas’ face sent his heart breaking. “It’s alright, my heart. I’m alright.” He soothed, slipping away the King that was always present in him and lowering his hand.

“I was frightened.” Legolas said quietly, gripping onto the hand that Thranduil offered. “I’ve never came close-...to see you injured like this...”

“You won’t lose me, my heart.”

“I will if your foolish! Galion told me how you would not get treated. That could have killed you, you’re fever has only just broke.” Legolas’ eyes flashed with anger.

“I did what was needed.”

“Foolish. I can not lose you, Adar. To lose you would to lose a part of myself and I can not take that.” Distress had leaked into Legolas’ voice.

Thranduil whispered softly between them, “Legolas, you’re mother loved you. More than anyone. More than life. And as do I. I never wanted to frighten you.”

“I know, Adar. I know.

“I know you must go, my heart.” Thranduil said suddenly, after he inhaled sharply to take a large breathe.

Legolas looked at him in surprise, and ducked his head briefly, admitting his shame. “I feel like I must find myself. I don’t believe I can do that at home. Not now. I hope you can accept this, and let me go, Adar.”

“Go north, find the Dúnedain. There is a young ranger among them, you should meet him. His father Arathorn was a good man, his son might grow to be a great one.”

Legolas glanced over Thranduil’s face, his hand never leaving his. “What is his name?”

Thranduil smiled slightly, “He is known in the wild as Strider. His true name, you must discover for yourself.”

“Thank you, Adar. I will go.” Legolas agreed, and shifted closer again to gently press his face into the soft furs of the bed. “But I will stay a little longer.”

Lifting a hand, Thranduil pressed his hand back into Legolas’ hair, gently brushing the locks back in a soothing motion. He knew that Legolas would not stay long, perhaps until he was healed a bit better.

“I love you, my heart.”

* * *

The Hobbit’s were of unusual nature. Despite the years of age that he had, Legolas has not encountered many.

When the Battle of the Five Armies ended was over, long ago, among the death and sadness, he remembered a hobbit that sat on a box. Some moments he saw him alone, and others he saw him clamored around with other dwarves that he recognized that had been ones that had been jailed at Mirkwood.

The whole time he did not smile, not at real one, in a believable form.

“The battle is over, do you plan to go home?” Legolas had asked, before he departed, unable to help but be curious.

The hobbit looked up in surprise, and he could see the recognition in his eyes. “I would like to go back.” He murmured softly. “But it now seems unfair.”

“Unfair?”

“I can go home, be safe and warm...but all these people…”

“Everything will be rebuilt.”

The hobbit suddenly looked sad and lowered his head to gaze at his hands. “Some things can't come back.”

“That may be true. But rebuilding can’t wait because it’s unfair. We have to be strong.”

There was a quiet silence, as much as there could be in the crowd of people, but Bilbo nodded, though still looked upset. “I have a feeling Thorin would have said something similar.

Standing up, Legolas looked at the Hobbit once more. “Be strong, Master Hobbit.”

It would be decades later, when Legolas would see Hobbit’s again, this time in fours. Hobbit’s that would create the Fellowship of the Ring.

Each looked scared, but did not voice their fears of the upcoming journey

For this was a uncertain journey.

They would have to be strong.

 

  


**Author's Note:**

> For some reason, I kind of want to write a short story about the elf guards I made up :)


End file.
